


la vie en rose

by Emilys_List



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-06
Updated: 2004-04-06
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: looking at life through gray morning light.





	la vie en rose

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**la vie en rose**

**by:** emily’s list

**Pairing(s):** josh/donna  
**Category(s):** romance.  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** they are SO not mine, but if they were, i would treat them very well. i’d send them to paris for creme brulee and sex.  
**Summary:** looking at life through gray morning light.  
**Author's Note:** i was going for this foggy, sappy-romantic paris fic, and i hoped it worked efficiently :) i recommend listening to “la vie en rose” while reading; it will enhance the experience. i also recommend telling me how the fic went 

‘Josh, my shoulder is going numb’ is what wakes him up. She mumbles her complaint sleepily into his ear. He dutifully moves off of her shoulder, and squints at the clock. He tries to figure out what time it would be in Washington, but his mind can’t work this fast on one hour of sleep. 

He looks at her, with one eye open. She’s on her back, her lips parted as she sleeps. He resists the urge to wake her, knowing that his reasoning of I’m-awake-so-you-should-be-too would not fly well this morning. 

He climbs out of bed slowly, his muscles aching from last night’s exertions. He winces as a particular pain shoots through his right hip, and he walks to the window. 

He looks out into the gray morning light and watches as people with umbrellas scurry around in the rain. He settles into the chair next to the window. 

And he thinks about their trip to Sacre-Coeur, where the President pontificated for half an hour -- nonstop -- about the architecture. 

\+ 

Choosing to ignore the President’s diatribe, he watched her instead. Watched her take in her surroundings. How she spoke in quiet, reverent tones. He felt like he was having a religious experience, just seeing her this way. She didn’t look to him once, so he admired her in private. 

He didn’t see her until much later; meetings with the French President’s senior staff had proved frustrating and lengthy. The ball, given in the American President’s honor, was tedious because she was not there. 

He left the party early, hoping she’d still be awake. She looked tired when she opened her door, but she smiled when she saw the dessert he had smuggled for her. 

\+ 

They never ended up indulging in the raspberry creme brulee. 

He started to eat it before she woke up. If she saw him eating that much sugar this early, she’d become rather irate. And he didn’t want to do that her. Not this morning. 

So he quickly ate the dessert he had brought her. He felt guilty, but the aftertaste of raspberry creme brulee took away the pain. 

\+ 

She didn’t eat the dessert. At his spontaneous request, she pulled on jeans and a sweater. They walked out to the street, suddenly uncomfortable with the amount of romance that comes with walking down the street in Paris at night. 

They speak very little. He looks sexy with his bow tie hanging untied around his neck, and it reminds her of Tony Bennett. 

She only tells him that he reminds her of Tony Bennett. He gives her a smile. 

At some point, he takes her hand. 

At some point, she kisses him. The world didn’t stop, or slow down, and the Apocalypse did not come. A little girl walking past with her father took note of the couple sharing an intimate kiss, and she made a Face. No one else noticed their sweet, chaste kiss. 

They continue walking, and she comments, embarrassed, on the strange things that one does in foreign countries. 

He’s not sure how to take that. They walk back to the hotel in absolute, uncomfortable silence. 

\+ 

In the reflection of the window, he can see her stirring. He intends to say good morning, but confesses to eating dessert. She yawns and pulls the blanket over her head, mumbling about retribution. 

He goes back to staring out the window, and his eyes fix on a red plaid umbrella. He watches it cross the street and out of his view. He stands up, and goes over to the bed where he lays down underneath the blankets. She reaches out to him and wraps her arms around his waist. She asks him why he got out of bed. 

\+ 

He walks her to her room, and all of his thoughts that he kept in during their walk came tumbling out. 

She nodded thoughtfully as he went on and on, stopping him only to open the door and walk into her room. She sat on the bed and he sat in the chair next to the window. He kept talking. 

He would have wanted to kiss her anywhere it didn’t have to be Paris and he wanted to kiss her again but was afraid she would stop him and he hoped she understood this was so important to him and he didn’t want to fuck it up and he was so sorry he just said fuck he wanted this to be romantic and then he injected fuck into this conversation when that was the last thing from his mind and now he’d just gone and said fuck three times well now four times and he could understand that maybe she hadn’t wanted to kiss him and she was just swept up in the moment but he had wanted to kiss her in front of God and all those French people she just beat him to it and he hoped that she would forgive him and maybe kiss him again because that was maybe the best kiss he’d had in awhile or maybe the best kiss ever. 

She took off her coat and threw it on the desk. Then, slowly, she moved to sit on his lap. She looks down at him expectantly and asks where her kiss is. He hesitates, startled by her frankness and her new location in his lap. He puts his arms around her waist. 

She thinks back to all of the times she’s looked at him in a tuxedo, and he never looked quite as good as he does right now. She leans her face down to kiss him, her lips inches from his. 

He can feel her warm breath on his lips, and he would swear that his heart stopped at that exact moment. He tilts his face up, just a bit, and their lips make contact. 

\+ 

She crawls into the chair by the window, her body flushed from their newest round of sex. She pulls on his tuxedo shirt that was hastily removed sometime last night. 

The pavement outside is shiny, slick with constant rainfall. The rain must have started sometime during the night. She can’t help but feel melancholy; rain always did that to her. She watches as a tall man in an ordinary tan raincoat crosses the street. He looks as if he’s been crying. The phone rings and she looks to where it sits on the desk. She’s hesitant to pick it up until she remembers this is her room; there is nothing suspect about her picking up the phone in her room at 7:30 AM. His room -- perhaps not the same thing. 

The Press Secretary’s voice greets her with a good morning, and asks if she’s seen Josh, he’s not picking up the phone in his room. She looks over to his sleeping, naked form and professes ignorance; she promises to track him down. The woman at the other end of the phone accepts this. They hang up. By the time she looks out the window again, the man is long gone. 

\+ 

He kisses her gently, as they maneuver themselves onto the bed. She kisses the underside of his jaw, and he moans his response. And she has a thought as she pulls his shirt off of his body. No contraception. He looks blank. Then he throws himself face first on the bed. She stares at the muscles in his back. It occurs to her that this may not be a good move. It’s reckless. 

She tells him it’s okay, and he lifts his head. She removes her clothes quickly and her breathing becomes ragged. She tells him again that it’s okay. Her voice is frenzied and soothing at the same time. 

He kisses the smooth flesh of her inner thighs. His mouth moves closer to her center, his tongue exploring, his fingers quick inside of her... anything to please her. For once, it’s about pleasing her. 

When he enters her, he’s scared that this mistake is too stupid for such intelligent individuals. But they want this too much; the consequences be damned. He fills her, and she grips the flesh of his back. Her muscles are tight, and admit him slowly into her body. Her eyes close tightly as the pleasure begins to override the pain. 

They establish a rhythm, and every time he pushes into her she moans. Her hips move to meet his and her legs wrap around his body; all movements that insists more, farther, deeper, harder. She reaches to touch herself and eventually his fingers join hers, their hands twined together as she climaxes. 

He continues his pace, whispering to her as shouts of his name die down. She tilts her pelvis to allow him completely inside, and it takes her breath away. He stares at her the entire time. He wonders how he could have lived without the expression that rests on her face. 

\+ 

‘Josh,’ she whispers, her hand gently shaking his shoulder. ‘CJ’s looking for you.’ She doesn’t want to wake him, but she knows he can’t sleep through his meeting. No matter how peaceful he looks. 

He squints at her in the rainy, morning light. He asks her when she started stealing clothes. 

She unbuttons his shirt as he watches her fingers dart down the buttons. She removes his shirt and places it delicately on the bed. ‘This isn’t a good way to get you up for your meeting.’ 

He agrees, and watches her. 

She mentions a shower, which has him moving very quickly. They both need to be ready soon, she reasons in her mind. Saving time and water is effective for so many reasons. 

They, of course, take much longer than anticipated. 

\+ 

She lays curled up on his chest, the sweat on her breasts glistening in the dim light of the room. Her ragged breath is hot against his neck. He continues to stroke her damp back as he tries to catch his breath. 

They’re silent, disbelieving. Wanting it to be true while simultaneously hoping it wasn’t. She wants to ask: now what. He wants to ask her when she’ll move in. 

She closes her eyes as words come spilling out of her mouth. He holds her as she speaks, nodding sporadically. 

She was so confused she knew this was right for so many reasons but she couldn’t help but realize this simple act had numerous ramifications that couldn’t be controlled by anyone and she wanted to acknowledge that she felt so much for him right now but was hesitant to say that except oh holy hell she just said it and she loved him for speaking so honestly before and she wanted to return what he had given her because he deserved it and she loved him for being a good and honest man who she could be absolutely proud of. 

His response was to hold her tighter as she started to drift off. 

\+ 

He had never watched her dress before. She was quick and efficient, but took her time pulling on stockings or dabbing perfume on her wrists and behind her ears. She pulls on her black pantsuit and adds a single strand of pearls. 

He had given her those pearls on her 29th birthday and he smiles when he notices the necklace adorning her neck. 

It occurs to him that he’s going to look suspicious emerging from her bedroom in a rumpled tux, but there is no other course of action. He dresses quickly, and she stuffs his bow tie into his jacket pocket. 

They face each other, standing close without touching. She leans in and their lips meet. ‘You’re going to be late,’ she says against his mouth. She tells him she’ll meet him after she goes through his schedule. He pulls her into an embrace and her arms tighten around him. 

‘Now what?’ she finally asks. He fingers her necklace, smiling. He kisses her cheek before he moves to the door. 

He stands there in his wrinkled tuxedo, his boxers lost somewhere within the tangle of sheets on her bed. He looks at her neck, where a faint cluster of broken blood vessels can be viewed. 

She turned away from him as the silence of his non-answer hung in the air. She walked towards the window and he followed her. He stood behind her as they watched the rain. He pulled her close, one arm around her waist. She leaned back so her hair touched his cheek. 

Years of not being this close to him. 

‘Now what?’ she asks again. 

Years of denial, he realizes. 

He kisses her hair, and asks when she’ll move in. 

+la fin+ 


End file.
